


Field Methods in Orphean Archaeology

by 30MinuteLoop



Series: Space Archaeologists [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Gay Indiana Jones in space, M/M, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Sarcasm, Space Archaeologists AU, Space Archaeology, clueless Hugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-16 23:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15448329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/30MinuteLoop/pseuds/30MinuteLoop
Summary: Space archaeologist Hugh Culber, a specialist in Vulcan wedding ceremony pottery, is beginning a new phase of his career as he arrives on Orpheus VI. He's part of the first team to excavate a major village of the long-dead Orphean civilization, and his colleagues help him adjust to life on such a big dig—one colleague in particular.





	1. tembleque

**Author's Note:**

> Wild amounts of thanks to @thewatch for first proposing Hugh Culber as an Indiana Jones-type character who is also a much better archaeologist. Additional thanks to all the folks in our Discord group who brainstormed so many details together, some of which made it into this piece!

Hugh steps off the shuttle and takes his first deep breath of the air on Orpheus VI: warm, dry, but slightly stale, with an acidic bite. He doesn’t like it. Nevertheless, this is his dream job—the first team to excavate a major village of the long-dead civilization on Orpheus VI. A little sour air is not going to ruin his buoyant mood.

He tilts his brown wide-brimmed hat to block the rays of the sun, adjusts the  heavy backpack on his broad shoulders, and strides across the dusty expanse of gravel towards the site office trailer a hundred meters away. Behind him, the shuttle lifts off.

The door of the dull metallic trailer slides open at his approach. Inside, an astonishingly young redhaired woman wearing a dark blue t-shirt sits at a desk.

“Can I help you?” she asks cheerily as she looks up from her console. But when she catches sight of Hugh, her eyes widen in surprise and she blushes.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Hugh Culber. I just came in from Starbase 8. I’m with the cultural research team,” he says.

“Dr. Culber!” the young woman squeaks. Hugh notes that she’s sliding a padd off her desk, almost as if she’s trying to be surreptitious about it. She notices that he notices, and turns redder. “I—I was told to expect you tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m definitely here now,” he replies.

“Well, uh, Dr. Culber, I’m sure we can get things ready for you.” She bolts to her feet. “I’m Sylvia Tilly. You can call me Tilly. I’m not an doctor like you, well, not yet, I just finished my bachelor’s degree and I’m working here for the summer before I start my master’s.” She extends her hand. “I’m honored to meet you, sir, uh, well, I’ve read a lot about you.” She looks away in apparent embarrassment when his eyes meet hers.

Hugh can’t help but raise his eyebrows. “I’m pleased to meet you too, Tilly. I always enjoy working with undergrads. What’s your focus?”

“Paleoethnobotany, primarily,” she says, “but I’m also very interested in archaeozoology.”

“Well, we might get to work together a little bit,” Hugh offers affably. “There’s often some plant remains in the pottery I study.”

She nods. “If I can excuse myself for just a few minutes, I need to go make sure your quarters are ready? And see if the cultural team needs to see you today?”

“Sure,” Hugh says. The tiny trailer does not have an inviting waiting area, though. He looks back at her. “Can you tell me where I can find the mess hall? While I’m waiting, I could use a cup of coffee.”

“Oh, sure!” she exclaims, looking relieved. “It’s on my way over. Here, come with me.”

She hurries past Hugh, almost bumping into him as she maneuvers around him in the tiny trailer and gestures for him to follow her outside.

“Is this your first time on a dig like this? Oh, what am I saying? It can’t be. You’re _Dr. Culber_. You’ve probably worked on a thousand digs.”

“To be fair, this is the largest dig I’ve ever worked on,” Hugh acknowledges. “And with researchers from all over the Federation. It’s pretty unusual for a project to be structured this way, with such extensive on-site work and such large teams.”

His eyes roam the scene around him. A yellowed dusty flat landscape, that acidic tang still hovering distastefully in the air, lined with what must be dozens of the bluish metallic trailers all pointing into the distance, towards their site. The ancient village extends up the side of a bare hill until it turns into a steep cliff rising hundreds of meters higher. The cliffside itself extends for miles to Hugh’s right, what might be the north.

“Here we are!” Tilly says brightly, gesturing to the door of a larger trailer. Hugh looks around and realizes he has no idea how they got here. The site can’t be that hard to navigate, but he wasn’t paying attention…

“Thanks.” Hugh turns to go into the trailer.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes or so,” Tilly promises as the door slides shut behind him.

The air inside the trailer, again, is filtered somehow, although a faint remnant of sour lingers. Hugh grimaces as he looks around for a coffee pot. The sterile trailer environment features two rows of picnic style tables, probably bolted to the floor. At the end furthest from Hugh is a kitchen window, serving trays empty. To the right of the door sits a food synthesizer, a couple of dark blue armchairs, and a sad looking large potted plant.

Replicated coffee it is, then.

He orders one large plain mug of coffee, and while the machine works, he carefully slings his backpack to the floor with a groan. He’s in good shape, but he wonders if he packed bricks by accident.

The synthesizer relinquishes a steaming mug and he sits down in the chair with a sigh.

He’s halfway through his coffee and wondering when Tilly will come back when the doors slide open and a grumpy blond man with striking blue eyes, wearing a long-sleeved white collared shirt and blue jeans, stalks into the mess hall and makes a bee line for the synthesizer next to Hugh.

“Large coffee, extra cream and sugar,” the man orders tiredly. His _face_ looks so familiar. Has Hugh worked with him before?

The man stares vacantly into space until the coffee appears, and then picks up the mug and sits at the nearest picnic table, rubbing his eyes with his left hand as he sips his drink.

“Tough morning?” Hugh asks finally, hoping to extract some information that will help him place where the hell he knows this guy from.

“Is it still morning?” the other man mumbles. Hugh realizes he’s not quite sure what the local time is.

“Actually, I don’t know,” he admits.

The man pulls a small padd from his pocket. “1100.” Hugh calculates in his head—it is afternoon now, in local time.

One of the difficult things about working on Orpheus VI is the day length: approximately 22 hours, compared to Earth’s 24. It’s expected that the circadian rhythm shift will be pretty hard on the human staff. The site doctors have some drugs to give folks to help them adjust, but working hours are less regulated here than on other projects Hugh’s worked on.

“I just got here, I hope it won’t be too hard to adjust.”

The other man looks up with slightly more interest this time, and actually looks at Hugh.

And Hugh suddenly remembers who this is.

This is the paleoethnobotanist Paul Stamets. Paleoethnobotanist Paul Stamets, whose picture in _Archaeology Monthly_ is actually tacked to Hugh’s office wall back on Alpha Centauri. Hugh will tell people it’s because Paul’s research on prehistoric Vulcan grain storage is groundbreaking and relevant to his own studies, which is true. However, it’s also because Paul has a strikingly beautiful face and a good smile.

“It’s a fucking nightmare,” Paul Stamets tells Hugh, rubbing his eyes and the bridge of his nose again for good measure. “I’ve never been a morning person but working on this godforsaken planet is going to make me lose my mind for good.”

Hugh’s glad Paul isn’t looking at him, because he’s smiling, and he figures Paul would not be impressed. He sips his coffee so he can hide his smile behind the cup if necessary.

Fortunately Paul seems quite distracted by his own exhaustion.

Another couple of minutes pass. Paul finishes his coffee and goes for another, and a bagel with cream cheese. Hugh wonders if Tilly is ever coming back.

“Have we met before?” Paul suddenly asks, looking at Hugh intently from his spot at the food synthesizer.

Hugh tries to take a breath to reply, feeling his cheeks heating up a bit. Instead, he chokes on his coffee.

While he tries to get his breath back, he hears Paul chuckle. “You look really familiar, that’s all.”

Hugh coughs a few more times, and takes a deep breath, regaining his composure as he looks at Paul sheepishly. “I’m Hugh Culber. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Wait, you did that article a couple years back on early historic Vulcan pottery design, right?” Paul’s eyes are growing wider and wider.

“That’s where I think I know you from. Prehistoric Vulcan grains? Paul Stamets?” Hugh asks, although of course he’s sure.

The two of them just look at each other. Paul is already blushing. Once again, Hugh gets the impression he’s stumbled in on a secret.

At that moment, Tilly comes into the mess hall.

She stops short, seeing Paul and Hugh sitting there.

“Uh, hi. I, uh, see you’ve met Dr. Stamets,” Tilly says hesitantly. She and Paul exchange meaningful wide-eyed looks.

 _What is going_ on _here?_ Hugh desperately wants to ask. _Why are you two acting so weird_? But perhaps that’s a question for another time, maybe once they’ve gotten to know him a bit better.

Paul picks up his bagel and his coffee. “I’ve got to get to work. Nice to meet you, Hugh,” he says quickly, and hurries out the door.

“I’ll take you to your trailer,” Tilly offers. “The team wants to meet you this afternoon, around 1400, if you’ll be ready?”

“That’s no problem. Lead the way.”

***

Dr. Burnham, as one of the founders of the Orpheus VI project, is known across the quadrant as a brilliant but distant researcher. But there’s something about her that draws Hugh in. He’s not prone to putting distance between himself and others, to be sure, but it still seems like the other team members are watching him when he approaches her at the close of their introductory meeting.

“I just want to say again what an honor it is to be part of your team, Dr. Burnham.”

She inclines her head in his direction. “Please, call me Michael,” she says evenly. “The pleasure is ours, Dr. Culber. Your reputation precedes you.”

A giggle erupts from the other end of the table. When Hugh looks over, one of the Bolian team members is trying and failing to hide a smile behind his fist.

“Am I missing something?” Hugh asks, trying not to sound accusatory but failing. Why is it that wherever he goes people are just _staring_ at him, or now _laughing_ at him?

“Sorry, just looking at a message from a friend,” the man replies.

He looks back at Michael, who is now shaking her head ruefully, with a small smile on her face. “Would you walk with me over to the site? I’d like to give you a quick tour. _Do not_ pay any attention to Trom—he is inscrutable.”

***

Hugh’s awake bright and early the next morning and he’s thrilled to get to work. He showers and then puts on his favorite dark red t-shirt and jeans. _Yes, it’s going to be a good day_ , he tells himself as he looks in the mirror and positions his hat on his head.

It’s only 0430 and the sun is just barely peeking over the horizon, but others are also already up and about. He waves at a few familiar and unfamiliar faces as he heads over to the mess hall trailer.

Inside, a few of the young interns are sitting together near the kitchen serving area, laughing and talking energetically. At the other end of the room, near the replicator and the door, sits Paul Stamets, once again looking exhausted as he contemplates a nearly empty cup of coffee.

Hugh helps himself to eggs, toast, and coffee from the buffet and then sits across from Paul. “Good morning!” he announces.

“Is it?” Paul lifts his head slowly to peer at Hugh warily over the top of old-fashioned rectangular eyeglasses. Old-fashioned, but quite… fetching.

“Are those real?” Hugh asks as he lifts a forkful of eggs to his mouth. “Your glasses?”

“No, they’re a holographic projection,” Paul grumbles. Hugh smirks. “Yes, I use them to see.”

“Not a common choice in this century.”

“Do you always make such obvious pronouncements?”

Paul’s words would be off-putting from almost anyone else, but there’s a slight softness to his tone that mitigates the blow. Hugh’s having fun. “Do you always choose to wear things you discovered on a dig?”

Paul narrows his eyes, but he’s smirking back. “I have a rare malformation of my lenses. It can’t be corrected by normal means. Sometimes I wear glasses,” he explains. “Particularly on a dusty site where I can’t wear contacts for long.”

Contact lenses are no less a thing of the past. Hugh shrugs and continues eating. He was too busy teasing Paul to say what he’d been thinking _—at least those relics look good on you. Like you’re a 21st century professor._

 

To start the day after breakfast, Michael shows him the maps of the site they’ve developed, and talks about the general excavation plan and where she expects he’ll be working. Hugh gets a tour of the lab facilities on site, the tool shed, and the fancy equipment like the holocamera and the x-ray imaging systems.

After a quick stop in the mess hall for a replicated sandwich, Hugh crouches alongside three enthusiastic young archaeology students, carefully excavating one square of the site, a section that is believed to be a kitchen. They work fairly quietly until Tilly joins them at around 1000, having traded off administrative duties with the next intern.

Hugh’s almost never been on a site big enough to have an admin. With dozens of staff on site, it’s needed. With so much activity he feels like he’s living in a village.

“Have you ever studied any pottery with language inscribed on it?” The question comes from Taleeha, a small, lean, light brown-skinned human woman with long wavy hair tied back in a ponytail. She’s using a trowel to scrape sandy dirt from a corner of the square they’re working on.

“It’s not a specific area of interest of mine, but yes,” Hugh says. “I leave the translation to the linguists, though.”

“Michael thinks if we find written language anywhere on Orpheus it should be here. This is the biggest village, of course. I would love to be part of the first team to translate Orphean,” Taleeha says excitedly. “My great-grandmother Hoshi speaks forty languages. Well, she says she’s forgotten a few over the years, but in her prime she did. She would be so proud of me.”

Hugh leans back on his feet and eyes the young woman with awe. “ _Forty_? I’m lucky if I can speak Standard coherently sometimes.”

“She inspired me to go into xenolinguistics, but then I took a class with Michael at the Federation University on Alpha Centauri a few years back and I was hooked on archaeology. Michael was a couple of years ahead of me in the PhD program there.”

“Wait a minute, Taleeha!” Tilly exclaims suddenly from across the square, eyes wide. “Your great-grandmother is Hoshi _Sato_?”

Taleeha nods. “You know about her?”

“She’s one of my heroes! That’s so extreme!”

Hugh’s the oldest person working on this square, and he feels it just now. And as he works, and listens to Taleeha and Tilly’s young friendship apparently cement over stories about Hoshi Sato, he suddenly feels quite lonely.

 

_Two weeks later_

Hugh’s taking the day off tomorrow and work ended early today, due to windy conditions stirring up dust on the site. After finishing up his notes on the day’s work, he’s feeling restless and, to be honest, a bit lonely. He heads over to the “living room” trailer where people often hang out in their downtime.

Today, though, it’s empty save for a very studious-looking Taleeha, bent over a small pile of padds and muttering to herself. Even if she wasn’t busy… there’s a bit of a generation gap. It’s more work to talk to her. Hugh aches for a familiar face, for an easy conversation, for something to help him feel more at home here.

It’s been two weeks and everything is great on the surface. People are friendly and cordial and hardworking. Hugh has the sense things will be better in the future—eventually he’ll feel more at home. But for now…

 _Okay, back to the default plan._ Back to his room. Maybe watch one of the latest movies he brought with him, or read a book. If he were back on Alpha Centauri he’d call a friend and go dancing. Here, stranded on deserted Orpheus, with limited subspace communications, there’s nowhere to go. He can’t even call home unless it’s an emergency in this storm.

He’d probably be feeling less unmoored by this quiet unscheduled evening if it weren’t for the fact that tomorrow is the anniversary of his grandma’s death. She always made the best tembleque…

At that thought, he turns around and goes back into the mess hall. But tembleque isn’t on the synthesizer’s menu. Great. _Tembleque is not obscure_ , he grumbles to himself for the tenth time or so. It’s never on the menu on dig sites.

He heads for his trailer. He has to go all the way down this row and halfway up the next to get there.

As he approaches, he squints through the dust. Who’s standing there in this weather?

Paul Stamets.

Normally, Hugh would be happy to exchange sarcastic banter with Paul, but he’s not feeling it tonight.

Paul probably wants to complain about something.

Hugh has his own complaints.

But he’s too close now to turn around and try to avoid him. With a sigh, Hugh makes himself keep going.

“Hi Paul,” he says as he reaches the trailer door, forcing a lightness into his voice that he doesn’t feel. “What’s going on?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to watch a movie with me,” Paul says in a hopeful voice, lifting a data rod into view. “I’ve got pretty much every film of the 22nd century on here.”

Hugh rolls his eyes, realizing only after he’s done so that he’s probably coming off pretty rude. Old movies are _not_ an interest of his, although everyone expects him to enjoy them because he digs up old pottery. In his free time he’d rather think of the present, and the future. Even though right now he’s mired in the past.

“Not tonight, but thanks for the offer,” he replies. “I think I’d rather just have a quiet evening by myself.” It’s a lie, of course. But he doesn’t really want to explain about the tembleque and his grandmother and just being in a rotten mood that’s getting worse by the second. Now he just wants to be alone.

Paul’s face falls spectacularly and he looks at his feet. “Oh. Well. That’s fine. I’ll… see you later.” He hurries past Hugh into the growing dust storm. Hugh turns to say goodnight but he’s already disappeared.

As Hugh’s kicking off his boots in his room, he wonders why Paul would seek _him_ out, of all people. Paul’s been on site for months already. He has other friends. Hugh’s probably the last one on his list of people to ask.

The thought flies out of his head when he sees the picture of his abuelita on his desk. He could really use one of her hugs. He decides to record a video message for his parents instead—maybe he can bribe Tilly to send it out in the morning.


	2. rescues

The next morning in the mess hall, Paul gets up and leaves as soon as Hugh walks in.

“Morning,” he says to Paul’s back.

 _Have I done something wrong?_ Or maybe it’s just par for the course here. He does seem to be the subject of some secret joke. Maybe it’s evolved from covert smiles and giggles to outright cold shouldering.

Hugh takes a deep breath as he gets his usual eggs, toast, and coffee from the breakfast line. _Try not to be so paranoid._

Like last night, the day off is stretching out in front of him intimidatingly. He could catch up on some fieldwork notes, send a few messages… oh right, try to get that video message out to his parents. Maybe read a book, practice a few dance moves.

Fortunately Tilly is here now, and at least she will talk to him. He sits down across from her.

“Good morning, Dr. Culber!”

Hugh tries not to grumble back, _Is it?_ “Morning.”

“Are you joining the dig again today? We’d love your company,” she offers.

“It’s my day off.” Hugh stares into his black coffee thoughtfully. “I was really looking forward to a break, but now… not so much.”

“Oh no! What’s wrong?”

“I’m in a funk. I miss home, I miss my friends, and well... I can’t understand why people keep acting strangely around me.”

“How do you mean?”

Hugh sighs. “This is going to sound very… paranoid. Please, just hear me out.” Tilly nods. “Sometimes it seems like… people are laughing at me. Like they have a joke about me that I’m not in on. Or they just look at me instead of talking to me. And just now Paul walked out of the room without even acknowledging me.”

Tilly’s eyes are wide and her cheeks have gone very pink. “Um. I think this might be my fault.”

“How is this _possibly_ your fault?” Hugh demands.

Tilly pulls out her padd from her shoulder bag and taps away, frowning. “I’m so sorry. I have to show you something.”

She places the padd on the table facing him and pushes it forward.

On the screen is a cover for a fake magazine called _Galactic Archaeologist_. Hugh is the cover model.

He recognizes the pose - the photo was taken for a departmental in-joke a few years back, when someone had laughed about him looking like a model in his hat and unbuttoned shirt. It’s a quite similar look to the one he’s been sporting since he arrived here.

The title for the cover story is “Dr. Hugh Culber - hottest archaeologist in the quadrant?” With other titles on the cover for articles that are also, apparently, about him.

He bursts out laughing. “Is _this_ why people are giving me those looks? They’ve _seen_ this?”

“Everyone has. I came across it a few weeks ago and realized you were on the roster. It made the rounds.” Tilly admitted. “The day you arrived, well… that’s what I was looking at.”

“I’m flattered,” Hugh says. And it’s true. It’s also an enormous relief. He isn’t imagining their reactions, and it isn’t something negative. It’s certainly awkward - he’s aware that many people find him attractive, but he’s never thought of himself as some sort of object of people’s attention in this way. Especially not enough to create this whole joke around a photo of him.

But this doesn’t explain why Paul ignored him this morning.

Hugh decides to play up the joke. He goes home and puts on the same shirt he has on in the picture. As he takes care of a few errands around camp,  he tries out striking the same pose as the _Galactic Archaeologist_ cover in front of people.

At first people don’t seem to understand what he’s doing. Then he gets the covert giggles, people elbowing each other when they think he’s not looking. But after he deliberately strikes the pose over lunch with some of the interns, they catch on.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Taleeha exclaims. “I can stop pretending I don’t see that cover every time I look at you.”

Hugh just raises an eyebrow in return, and strikes the pose again. “You’re going to see it whether you like it or not!”

  


A few days later, Hugh is examining some pottery sherds under a microscope when Tilly bursts into the lab.

“Dr. Culber!” she exclaims. “We found a cave!”

He grabs his hat and hurries out of the lab after her. When they reach the site, she leads him past their current research area, around one of the house sites, and further up the hill.

Some people have been using pickaxes and excavating phasers to get down to where they believed a larger building was buried.

Instead, they’ve uncovered a cave entrance, surrounded by small boulders, around two meters tall and a meter wide. Michael’s shining a flashlight into the cave. There’s no end in sight.

“Has anyone gone in yet?” Hugh asks.

Michael says, “Taleeha saw Paul go in a couple of minutes ago. By himself. No equipment.” She rolls her eyes.

“And no one’s seen him come out?” Hugh asks. She shakes her head. “Why would he _do_ that? We have no idea what’s back there.”

“Before I came to get you he said he thought he saw something growing in the back of the cave,” Tilly says. “I didn’t think he was going to just go look at it.”

Now Hugh rolls his eyes. “I’m trained in search and rescue. Maybe I should go in after him.”

Michael’s already handing him a bag of gear, from where, Hugh has no idea. “Let’s go together. At least if we run into trouble we have each other for backup.”

Hugh puts on the helmet with headlamp, clips the ropes to his belt, and puts on the full-finger gloves. He steps into his harness and fastens it around his waist.

“If we don’t come back in fifteen minutes, radio us, or send in a real rescue team,” she tells the growing crowd. “He really can’t have gone far.”

Hugh’s not sure he believes that. He’s seen Paul poring over six different padds of botanical information at once. He can get lost in his work; he could probably get lost in a cave too.

Hugh and Michael check their GPS locators, adjust their packs, and switch on their lamps. “Ready?” Michael asks. At Hugh’s nod, she leads the way into the cave.

The cave is surprisingly damp, and damp-smelling. The sour smell of the Orphean air is markedly reduced, however. When Hugh’s headlamp traces paths along the walls of the cave, he can see smears of a greenish-yellow substance. Maybe an algae? Where is all this moisture coming from in such a dry environment?

“I hear water dripping,” Michael calls from ten meters ahead of him. She’s moving faster, her steps purposeful and well placed. Hugh finds himself trying to take in more of the details, trying to understand what would lead Paul so far back into this unfamiliar and potentially dangerous place.

“Paul!” Michael shouts into the darkness. “Paul! Answer us!”

The only sounds are Michael and Hugh’s boots against the increasingly wet ground, clay beginning to cling to their soles as they walk.

“I swear, if he thinks for one minute that it’s okay for him to make us look for him…” Hugh grouses. _The nerve._

“Hold on, I think there’s a clearing or a cavern up ahead,” Michael reports. She pulls a flashlight from her belt and shines it ahead to supplement her headlamp.

A few moments later, the air temperature drops as they step into a larger room. Hugh hears the water dripping now, off to his left.

Michael pivots, her lights dancing off the walls of the cavern around them. The opposite side is about fifteen meters from them; to the right, the wall is maybe three meters away, and to the left, a tiny stream of water drips down the wall ten meters away. Somewhere up there, near the waterfall, a ray of light is shining in.

“Paul!” Hugh calls.

There’s a groan to their left, behind some boulders.

He and Michael hurry as fast as they can up and over the boulders. And indeed, on the other side, slumped against the rocks, is Paul. Michael already has a basic medical tricorder out and is scanning him as Hugh crouches down to look him in the eyes.

A bloody smear runs down the right side of Paul’s face from his temple, and blood is dripping from his nose as well. His cheek is swelling.

“We’re very glad to see you, Dr. Stamets,” Michael says briskly and professionally. “You gave us a scare. How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” Paul admits. “But I’m glad to see you too.”

Hugh rustles around in his pack for sterile cleaning supplies. Finding what he needs, he begins to clean a bit of the blood off Paul’s face.

“What on earth possessed you to come all the way back here on your own?” Hugh admonishes him, examining the edges of the wound. It’s not serious. Paul won’t need stitches. “We had no idea how safe this tunnel was. You ought to know better. _You could have gotten yourself killed_.”

Michael turns towards him with a start. Her eyes are wide and surprised; is she _smirking_ though?

“Well, _doctor_ ,” Paul begins sarcastically, “I wanted to see what the local algae and fungi are like in this dusty hellhole. And thank you for your medical advice, but I’ll be fine.”

“He doesn’t seem to have a concussion,” Michael observes, examining the tricorder readings. “And his attitude is certainly intact. I’ll scan for broken bones.”

Hugh digs out an antiseptic hypospray.

“Hold up,” Michael says sharply. “His nose is broken and there’s a bone spur dangerously close to his brain. We need to get him back to camp right away. I’m sure Nurse Ishavel has the right equipment.” She gets to her feet. “It looks like there are no other fractures. Hugh, I’m going to get back to camp and get Ishavel to find what we need. I’ll meet you there or I’ll come back when I find it.” She clambers back over the boulder without another word.

 _She’s no better than Paul!_ Hugh gripes to himself. They should be radioing back to camp. They should both be helping Paul out of the cave. He shouldn’t be rescuing Paul on his own. But here he is.

Paul grimaces. “Well, I guess I can’t stay here forever.” He carefully rolls to his left and slowly gets to his feet, Hugh ready behind him in case he falters. Fortunately he seems pretty steady on his feet.

Hugh climbs over the boulder and waits for Paul, his hand outstretched in case assistance is needed. Paul’s moving slowly but competently, taking his hand to get down the other side. They make their way slowly through the cavern and into the tunnel.

Paul’s legs give way beneath him halfway to the cave entrance. Thankfully, with Hugh still holding his arm, he doesn’t hit his head as he slumps to the ground.

Hugh crouches down beside him. “What’s going on?”

“The adrenaline must have hit late,” Paul says weakly. He looks even paler than usual. After a few moments, he adds, “Thank you for rescuing me.” His blue eyes look huge in the dim light below where Hugh’s headlamp is pointing.

“We can talk about that later. No, we _will_ talk about that later,” Hugh promises.

“Why did you come after me?” Paul asks in a soft, almost plaintive voice.

“We all wanted to make sure you were safe. Although apparently that’s not a big concern of yours.”

Paul’s gaze drops to his muddy hands in his lap. He inhales sharply and lets the breath out slowly, shakily. “I’m sorry.”

Hugh doesn’t really have a good response. And now’s not the time. “We should really get out of here. Are you okay to walk? I can carry you if not.”

Paul shakes his head. “No, I think I can walk.” Hugh stands and extends a hand to help Paul up. Paul takes his hand and pulls himself upright.

His hand lingers for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary. When Hugh tries to let go, Paul doesn’t let him. Paul squeezes his hand. “Thank you,” he says in the most solemn, sincere voice Hugh’s ever heard him use. “I owe you.”

“You can repay me by not doing something that stupid ever again.” Hugh extracts his hand, turns towards the light at the end of the cave, and lets Paul follow him.

The depth of his anger surprises him. He’s helped people out of sticky situations before, but it’s never emotionally affected him at this level.

It must be the immense stupidity of Paul’s actions. Who runs into an unmapped cave without any equipment or backup?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can see @aphelyon's artwork that inspired the little plot twist [here](https://aphelyons.tumblr.com/post/175368595535/as-the-archaeology-of-our-thought-easily-shows).


	3. a bag of rocks

Hugh doesn’t end up talking to Paul about the cave incident, not exactly. He waits to make sure Paul’s okay with Nurse Ishavel before taking off to get back to his lab work. A couple hours later, a freshly healed Paul comes by the lab to apologize again. And somehow, even though Hugh is angry, he doesn’t have the heart for a big serious conversation about it. “Don’t make people have to worry about you, Paul,” is all he says, all he wants to say.

***

“I’m ready to head back into the cave,” Paul announces to Hugh two days later, practically as soon as Hugh comes into the mess hall for breakfast. Paul’s sitting right by the door, as if he were  _ waiting _ for Hugh to arrive.

“I hope you find someone who’s willing to go in there with you,” Hugh teases. He pauses at the table, torn between walking off to get his breakfast and continuing this conversation.

“I was hoping  _ you _ would. Since we’ve already been back there and seen some of what’s going on.” Paul’s wearing his most pleading and hopeful expression, to which Hugh maintains complete immunity.

“A rescue operation isn’t exactly research experience. I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything about what’s going on back there, and that’s if there is really even anything to speak of.”

Paul looks up at him, blue eyes wide. “Did you really not notice the inscriptions on the wall in that main chamber? Or the remnants of some sort of structure?”

“Michael and I were trying to find you, so no, I  _ didn’t _ look for cultural evidence. How silly of me.” 

“I think I saw some sherds near the structure too,” Paul adds. “If that makes it more interesting to you.”

Now Hugh’s raising an eyebrow. “Did you really though? Or are you just trying to get me to come with you?”

“I’m not making it up. I mean, I didn’t have a chance to investigate. But someone has to go back there sometime. That could be us winning the Alpha Centauri Prize.”

Hugh rolls his eyes. “I don’t do this for the prizes.”

“How about for ‘The Thrill of Discovery?’” Paul suggests, raising his eyebrows, obviously referencing Hugh’s article for  _ Popular Science _ from last year.

Hugh sighs. He does like discovering things. He just prefers not to have to rescue reckless colleagues while he does it. “Fine. But we are taking every single precaution, including bringing a full team with us. And we are sure as hell not going out today. I have things to do first.”

Paul leaps to his feet, grinning with an unbearably smug satisfaction. “Tomorrow then. I’m going to get ready. See you later.”

***

Before he knows it, Hugh is walking back down the cave tunnel towards the main chamber, followed by Paul, Michael, Tilly, and Taleeha. Each of them is decked out in basic cave exploration gear--headlamps, helmets, backpacks stuffed with equipment, cameras.

“Remember, we aren’t aiming to disturb the site or collect anything today,” Michael reminds the interns. More loudly she says, “That goes for you too, Paul.”

Paul waves a hand dismissively. “Look, I didn’t get to be where I am by eschewing  _ every _ protocol, Michael. Don’t worry. Take only photos, leave only footprints.”

“This isn’t a campsite,” Hugh mutters, not too quietly.

“You’re right, it’s an archaeological site, and the rules are the same.”

Hugh wants to exchange exasperated looks with Michael but when he looks over to her, she is just smiling at him and shaking her head slightly. Does she actually  _ like _ Paul? He wouldn’t have guessed. Michael sometimes doesn’t seem to like anyone.

After a few minutes they’re back in the chamber and Hugh has his first real opportunity to look around at the tall ceilings, the jutting walls, and the pile of boulders in the middle.

He gets distracted by the refreshing dampness of the cave’s air this far in. Hugh breathes deeply and lets the joy of that settle into him.

For longer than is strictly rational, he contemplates setting up a tent in this cavern, maybe just living here for a while. Orpheus is so dry. He’s gone through a lot of lip balm and lotion since arriving. This is clearly a better environment for him--if only it weren’t so dark.

When he shakes off his daydream, Michael’s directing Tilly and Taleeha in creating a 3D model of the space with the holocamera, while Paul’s already wandered off somewhere, probably behind those boulders again.

“I’ll walk the perimeter,” he offers. Michael just nods, her hands full with the interns.

He turns to the left and begins walking along the wall, shining his headlights on the ground ahead of and around him. As on the tunnel into the cave, the ground is compacted damp clay soil that clings to his boots. He stops to reach down and rub a bit of the clay between his fingers.  _ Did the Orpheans get their clay from here? _

“Wow!” he hears Paul exclaim from up ahead.

Hugh gets to his feet. His headlamp finally illuminates a glimpse of Paul’s blond hair behind a reddish rock pile about ten meters away. Has he taken off his safety helmet  _ already _ ?

“What’s going on, Paul?” he asks as he approaches, small rocks crunching beneath his feet.

Paul just gestures down and around him. “There  _ are _ walls!”

Indeed, at Paul’s feet there’s the unmistakable curve of a crumbled wall, built of stone and clay, jutting up 10 centimeters or so from the ground wherever the rocks haven’t flattened it.

The excitement on Paul’s face is infectious. “See, I told you!” he says, giving Hugh a tiny playful shove. “Come over this way and I’ll show you the sherds.”

“Oh my gosh!” Tilly’s voice echoes off the walls from across the chamber. “Dr. Burnham, there’s something  _ written _ on the wall here!”

Taleeha squeals.

“Okay, show me what’s going on,” Michael announces without a hint of enthusiasm, although Hugh imagines that her eyes are sparkling.

They’re all in their element. He turns back to look at Paul. He’s grinning and his eyes are glowing under the headlamp light. Hugh’s never seen Paul so happy. It’s kind of endearing.

***

After a few days of careful mapping and photography, marking out the cavern into squares, and some preliminary planning, they can finally start excavation. Late on that first afternoon, after the rest of the team has gone for dinner, Paul and Hugh are troweling dirt to extract what is probably another food storage container.

“What’s going to be in here?” Paul muses happily as they work. “Seeds? Grains? Fruit? Jam?” He whistles tunelessly for a while.

Hugh can’t contain a smile. When the other archaeologist isn’t trying to get himself in trouble, his enthusiasm for his work is quite charming.

“It’s probably just another jar of grain,” Hugh points out. “We’ve found four of them so far.”

“Maybe it’s a  _ different  _ kind of grain.”

Hugh shakes his head ruefully. 

After another fifteen minutes and switching to brushes to clear away the last of the soil, it's time to extract the vessel. Paul leaves this task to Hugh, starting work on another area of the room a couple meters away.

Hugh takes a few pictures before he gently lifts the pot, which is about a foot tall, eight inches wide, and almost spherical. He sets it on the ground and brushes more dirt from its sides and around the lid. “I hope I can open this.”

Paul sits back on his haunches to watch Hugh work. “Fingers crossed.”

Hugh examines the lid. Some kind of wooden plug. Hopefully not too tight. He grips the edges with his gloved hand and twists up. After some resistance, he’s able to carefully extract the plug and shine a dim light inside. “Some kind of shriveled plant matter. Paul, come take a look at this.”

The plants are rounded and desiccated, little brown things with a small stem. Some appear to have been cut in half.

Paul crouches down beside Hugh and shines his own light inside the pot. “Might be dried mushrooms,” he says after a minute. “I won’t know until we get it back to the lab, of course, but that’d be the first evidence of edible fungi on this planet if so.” He looks up into the distance. “It’s too dry almost everywhere we’ve looked. I’d be surprised if that’s what it is, especially since we haven’t seen any evidence of significant recent climate change in this region yet.” He looks at Hugh. “What do you think about the pot?”

“It looks consistent with other pieces we’ve found so far. Probably nothing special.”

Paul stands up and stretches. “This seems like a good place to stop for the day. I could use a break, some food, and a movie. Want to join me?”

Hugh’s about to turn him down on reflex, but - yes, he actually  _ would _ like that. “Sure.”

As they’re exiting the cave into the low and bright evening sun, Hugh adjusts the brim of his hat to block the light. He looks over at Paul, clutching the crate with the day’s specimens inside. Paul has the softest smile on his face. 

“You look very satisfied,” Hugh says.

“So far, it’s been a very good day.” Paul looks a little flushed. “I’m looking forward to--dinner. And sitting down.”

“Me too.”

***

Paul’s trailer is surprisingly cozy. A plush red armchair sits next to a small wooden bookcase in the corner facing the door. A row of small potted native plants tops the bookcase. His unmade bed in the diagonally opposite corner is lined with oversized blue and green pillows, turning it into a sort of sofa facing his large monitor and console.

“How did you get all this furniture down here?”

“I came down with the first crew - they had to bring the trailers anyway, so there was room to pack my own stuff. I knew I was going to be here a while. I wanted to be comfortable.”

“I wish I had brought more things.” Hugh wonders suddenly if he’s been feeling homesick because his trailer doesn’t feel like a home.

“Maybe you could put in a request for some things on the next transport.”

“Maybe.” He somehow doubts he could bring anything down here that would make him feel as comfortable as this room does. Clearly he could learn a few things from Paul.

Paul catches sight of his unmade bed and hurries over to it. “Oh shit. Let me straighten up first.”

Hugh sits in the armchair and reads Paul’s book titles while he waits. Some of the books are Paul’s own publications, but most are older, 21st  and 22nd century editions of other science books. A couple of padds sit at the end of one of the book rows.

One title does catch his eye. Hugh hasn’t seen this book in print at all, aside from his own copy.

“You have my book,” he announces. “Why do you have my book?”

There’s a long pause. “It’s relevant to my research.”

“It wasn’t printed for the general public,” Hugh says, pulling it off the shelf. It’s a plain red book with no dust jacket, titled  _ Vulcan Wedding Ceremony Pottery: 900–600 BCE _ .

“I like reading paper books sometimes. I had someone send me a copy with the last supply run. Is that okay with you?” Paul asks, the question accusatory but his tone soft.

Hugh shrugs, his interest piqued, but he doesn’t want to press Paul too much about it. “Of course.”

Paul’s settled on the couch bed and Hugh slides onto the bed to sit a couple of feet away. Paul must have brought his own bed too. It’s very soft and also larger than his own.

“This is pretty comfortable.” Hugh bounces slightly as he settles back into the cushions. Paul smiles and nods, and tells the computer to start the film.

The movie is some space travel comedy from a few decades ago, called  _ Asteroid Attack _ . It’s all right, reasonably funny, but Hugh can’t pay attention. He wants to look to see Paul’s reaction every time he laughs, and his smile makes Hugh’s heart melt a little…

The realization hits him like a bag of rocks. (And he has been hit by a bag of rocks before—hazard of the job.) He takes in a sudden sharp breath, causing Paul to glance his way and then back at the film.

Is  _ this _ why Paul wanted to watch a movie with him? Is  _ this _ why Hugh wanted to watch a movie with Paul? Hugh is reeling as he attempts to process this: How much he enjoyed their daily sarcastic banter. How mad he was at Paul for running into the cave. How disappointed Paul looked when Hugh turned him down for a movie weeks ago.

The space crew’s shuttle is traveling through an asteroid field. Nothing much is happening, but the cinematography is amazing. The shuttle soars between rocks, a bright multicolored canvas of stars and planets completing the scene.

Hugh looks over at Paul again, admiring his expressive blue eyes and how his brows knit together as he concentrates on the film.

Another bag of rocks hits him in the chest. He breathes deeply again.  _ What am I doing? _

Paul slowly turns his head. “What?”

“Um.” Hugh can’t look away from those eyes. Probably it’s the bag of rocks that knocked all the air out of his lungs. Maybe he’s about to pass out.

Paul lifts an eyebrow. And then suddenly his expression softens, and keeps softening. His eyebrows relax, and a smile forms on his lips.

Paul’s lips. Hugh had never really noticed them before.

And now they’re coming closer. Paul’s leaning on his right arm now as he twists over. Hugh closes his eyes and feels himself leaning into Paul’s lips. 

The kiss is gentle and tentative at first, until Hugh finds the presence of mind to kiss Paul back.

Paul must sense Hugh’s confusion though, because he pulls away after a few moments.

“That was… good,” Hugh says, although his brow furrows as he attempts to catch up to whatever the hell has just happened here.

“You seem surprised,” Paul says dryly.

“I don’t think I’ve been very… aware of what’s going on.”

Paul laughs. “Was I not being entirely obvious?”

“Not at all?”

“I kind of thought, once I heard that Tilly told you about the magazine cover, that you’d get the hint.”

“What does that have to do with you? Tilly said she found it and shared it.”

Paul facepalms. “Why?” he moans into his hand. He looks back at Hugh. “I found the magazine cover on some paleoethnobotany message board. Tilly saw me looking at it and wanted to send it around. I specifically told her how much I admired you. I honestly don’t know how she wheedled that out of me. And then she told me you were assigned to the project and you were  _ coming here _ .”

“So Tilly wasn’t the one who found it.” Hugh is completely lost now. “You found it.” How is it that his entire reality on Orpheus has been turned upside down so quickly?

“Yes,” Paul mumbles, having facepalmed again.

“I’m flattered.”

“Really?” Paul looks up, and his hopeful expression dissipates some of Hugh’s confusion. He really does have a beautiful face.

“Yes,” Hugh says, leaning forward now, only somewhat less floored by the whole situation but knowing that he would definitely like to revisit that kiss.

The second kiss is also soft and sweet, and a little open-mouthed. Hugh lifts his hand to gently caress the back of Paul’s head and pull him in a little closer.

The third kiss - there is definitely tongue involved. It goes on for a long, long time.

Halfway through the fourth kiss, Hugh is climbing onto Paul’s lap to get closer.

By the end of the fifth kiss, they are lying on the mattress, a few pillows already fallen to the floor, both breathing heavily. Paul has his hands under Hugh’s shirt, gripping his waist.

“Yeah, it’s been a pretty good day,” Paul whispers, smirking, as he goes in for kiss number six.

***

Hugh wakes up exhausted from too little sleep but very comfortable in this huge soft bed. Paul is curled up with his back to Hugh, his pale arms covering his eyes from the sun.

Hugh seriously contemplates taking the day off. Making out with Paul Stamets like a pair of teenagers had not been on his schedule but now it seems like the entire point of living.

He replays yesterday’s events. How Paul looked at him when they came out of the cave. The blushing Hugh had misinterpreted for overexertion. Paul straightening up his room before allowing Hugh on the bed. The paper edition of Hugh’s most prestigious work. Paul’s eyes in the low light as he leaned in for the first kiss…

And then all the little signs over the weeks. The flirting, the many meals together, the disappointment and the pulling back Paul had displayed after Hugh turned him down for a movie.

Paul must have thought Hugh was turning him down completely.

And in a sense, he wasn’t wrong. Hugh hadn’t been ready then.

Hugh sighs. He still feels bad about that. Then Paul stirs, stretching out his legs and arms, and startling when his leg kicks Hugh’s.

“Ack!” Paul scoots away reflexively as he twists to see what’s going on. Seeing Hugh, he takes a deep breath and seems to force himself to relax. “Sorry. I, um, forgot you were here.” Then he smiles. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Hugh returns softly.

Paul turns all the way around and lies back down facing Hugh, putting his right hand on Hugh’s chest. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” he says, blushing as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“Sorry I made you wait,” Hugh jokes, putting a hand on top of Paul’s and squeezing.

They lie there quietly for a few minutes.

Hugh breaks the silence. “I have to confess: I knew who you were beforehand too. I have a picture of you, from that feature article in  _ Archaeology Monthly _ , on my office wall.”

Paul’s mouth drops open.

“For legitimate scientific reasons of course. I always thought your work was excellent. But you clean up very nicely in pictures too.”

Paul’s blushing again as he gestures to his dusty hair sticking out every which way. “You don’t like the fieldwork look?” 

“Well, I discovered that I like that too.” Hugh gets his fingers into Paul’s hair and pulls him closer. Paul just melts into him.

Yes, they’re going to take the entire day off, if Hugh has anything to say about it.

***

Eventually they do have to surface for food. They arrive at the peak of lunchtime, and there’s a bit of a line.

And although Hugh is very aware that things are different between him and Paul, the rest of the site is going about business as usual. It’s a bit disorienting, but not unpleasant at all. Now he’s got a secret to keep from everyone. For the time being.

Tilly’s at the end of the lunch line and shoots him a concerned look as he approaches. “Are you feeling okay, Dr. Culber? We missed you this morning. Dr. Burnham said she got your message.”

“No, I’m fine, Tilly. I just didn’t sleep that well. That 22-hour day, you know? I needed to recuperate.”

She looks over his shoulder at Paul and suddenly breaks into a huge grin. “Oh, I  _ see _ ,” she says meaningfully.

Hugh whips around to glare at Paul, who has an unmistakably smug and delighted smile on his face, clearly meant for Tilly. He isn’t successful at wiping it off his face for Hugh, even though he’s a bit abashed.

Improbably, Michael gets into line behind them. 

“Good morning, or should I say, good afternoon.” She eyes Hugh and Paul, raising an eyebrow knowingly. “I hope you had a...  _ pleasant _ morning.” 

_Oh no._ Hugh lives in a very small town right now. He adores this sense of  _belonging_ , but there will be no keeping any of this from anyone.

Paul surreptitiously takes his hand behind their backs and squeezes it, giving Hugh that little smile. Perhaps things will be okay.

Perhaps they’ve discovered more on Orpheus VI than just the underground remnants of an ancient civilization. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You just know these two are gonna have many dig adventures ahead of them. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Further thanks to @aphelyon for drawing the Galactic Archaeologist magazine cover that inspired a little part of this story. And thanks to my fantastic beta reader, @lucyisalive!
> 
> And finally another thanks to the Culmets/Discovery Discord group who have been so supportive and eagerly awaiting this story. <3


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